My Truth: I Have Anxiety

I’m not going to beat around the bush with this one.

I have officially been diagnosed with an anxiety disorder.

Wow. I said it. {Massive weight lifted.}

I suspect I have had it for a long time; perhaps my whole life. I can vividly recall as a young kid feeling anxious about seemingly ridiculous, mundane things. Somehow all of those little worries of my past and my present have pieced themselves together to make one complete puzzle. And that puzzle spells A-N-X-I-E-T-Y.

For months now I have felt like I am going fucking crazy. (Sorry I had to drop an F bomb there, but this post requires the full enchilada, so I’m going for it.) I have felt symptoms on and off for years, had a few panic attacks, and have basically suffered alone in silence.

For as long as I have been alive, I have been a really good girl. I did everything I was told to do and more. I lived my dad’s dream and got an Ivy League degree. I pushed myself to the brink and back. But even at my lowest, most stressed out moments, I forced my head above water. I never put much stock in the fact that I was worried all the time. I never dealt with my intense fear of failure. I brushed off the fact that I had constant stomachaches and would often be unable to eat due to intense nerves. I ignored every warning sign imaginable.

Denial.

Well, now I am an actual adult (whatever that means), or at least I am supposed to be. I have had issues transitioning. I have had worries about unmet expectations, and that same looming knot in my stomach, that voice in my head that tells me “you aren’t good enough”, always comes back. Although this time, it has come back with a vengeance.

At my wedding, I was a nervous wreck. I tried my best not to show it publicly, but my anxiety was spewing out the top of my head like a fountain. I couldn’t eat. Food made me want to vomit. I was lucky that I didn’t pass out during posed photos. Of course, there were several moments of joy, but also a lot of worry and nerves.

My physical health issues have basically made everything one hundred times worse. Yes, let’s tell a girl with a bad case of undiagnosed anxiety that she might have cancer. Then let’s tell her she needs surgery. After surgery, let’s ramp up her periods so that she thinks she might bleed out and die. And if she isn’t a hot enough mess by then, let’s tell her she needs to have a baby. When? Oh, I don’t know…NOW.

Yuck, that last paragraph was exhausting. But it is the absolute truth. My loyal readers know this, as I have written a lot about it.

Even after all my health dramas, I still didn’t want to ask for help. I was too proud. I would rather fall and possibly lose everything I had worked so hard for all of these years than reach for that outstretched hand; and admit that I couldn’t do it all on my own.

But then something interesting happened.

Last month was another month of trying to conceive. I had completely convinced myself that I was pregnant. This was IT. I was feeling all of the symptoms of pregnancy according to WebMD. I was victorious! Why I had it in my head that pregnancy was a cure-all for my every problem, I will never know. But whatever. Then I went to the bathroom, and I saw the ever-familiar pre-period spotting.

I totally broke down. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Twenty-something years of worries and anxiety came crashing down on my head. I felt like my heart actually broke in half, and got flushed down the toilet.

I hurt everywhere. Yet I picked myself up and tried to move forward, like the trooper I have always been. But my body told me “Enough is enough. We are done.” And I fell to the ground. Hard.

My heart took off racing, and wouldn’t stop for almost two weeks. I was having palpitations, extreme fatigue, shortness of breath, you name it. But still I persisted on. Finally my loved ones intervened and told me that this was crazy, and I needed to get help immediately.

L called my doctor for me. I was too anxious to even call my own doctor. I took a lot of deep breaths and had to have my mom drive me to her office. Never have I been so scared in my entire life.

As the door to the exam room opened, the words practically fell out of my mouth.

“I have a problem. Well, actually, I have a lot of problems.”

Life throws you curve balls. Most of the time, you aren’t ready for them. I may get pregnant, I may not. I may have more bad days, I may not. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but for the first time in a long time, I am hopeful.

I am trying to get help for my problems. I am facing my fears, however irrational they may be to the “normal” person. It actually makes me kind of proud. Seeking treatment is something very new for me, but living with this disorder is not.

I am a person with a lot of worries. I am finally learning what a great release it is to say that and not feel bad about it.

I would be interested to read any of your experiences with anxiety and/or treatment for anxiety. Feel free to share. If you aren’t comfortable sharing publicly, you can always email me at [email protected]